The Desert Rose
by anima vivere
Summary: A sighting of a ghost sets Greg and Sarah in pursuit of a legend while Nick and Russell go after the murderer of a PI. All too soon they realize that the cases are connected and the key to the answer lies 32 years in the past. A past that has come back to hunt both the murderer and the entire city.
1. Chapter 1

**CSI: Desert Rose**

**Chapter I: A rumour of murder**

Night was falling in old Las Vegas. As the sun drew nearer to the horizon the masses of fun-seekers got drawn to the strip. Many were only tourists, seeking a moment of sinful pleasure. All of them were in awe for the lights, the sense of free sin and the underlying feeling that there were no rules, that all was possible.

At one end of the strip, or at least at the point that was considered to be the 'official' end of the strip, there was an old club. It was considered old because it had been around for 35 years, an eternity in this town. 'The Red Rose' was a piece of history: founded by and once home to the legendary 'Desert Rose', the most notorious concubine of Las Vegas. Slender legged and well build, this brunette with eyes the colour of a summer sky was said to be able to 'finish' a man by merely looking him in the eye. Unlike its founder the club had survived, for the 'Desert Rose' was no more: killed in a locked room, with a single bullet, Rose had entered immortality and taken her place among the other legends of Sin City. The murderer was never caught.

Tonight, people gathered as a new show was about to start in the home of this long dead legend. It was supposed to be a homage to her. It was no surprise than, that several young women had come to pay her tribute by dressing up like her. Many women were wearing the Rose's characteristic Al Capone-suit, complete with the hat askew. No one noticed her at first, a young woman dressed like the Rose. It wasn't until later, when the show was over and people began to leave, that an old visitor saw her. A VIP because he had known the Desert Rose, he saw her standing across the street, the eyes fixed at the Red Rose. For one moment, one impossible moment, he felt as if the years had rolled back and the Desert Rose herself was looking at him from across the gaps of history. The next moment she walked away. If it had been any other he would've thought that she was just another girl playing dress up, but she wasn't… The way she had tilted her head to the side and the way her hips had moved… It was her. The Desert Rose had returned.

Russell was looking at the motel as he hauled his kit out of the back of his car. It looked a shabby old place; the old fashioned fence ran from around the parking, separating it from beaten doors and cracked windows. Nick was already there, talking to a sour looking Brass next to the entrance of room 419. Nick couldn't hide his grin.

"Well, would you look at that." Russell joked. "Room 4-19… how appropriate."

"Congratulations, DB. You're the 50th person to make that joke." Brass said without so much as moving a muscle.

"Ok." He added after a deep breath. "The room was rented cash under the name John Nash. The, eh, manager already confirmed that the body inside belongs to the guy who rented the room."

"Let's have a look then." Russell said as he entered the room.

It was as shabby as the outside of the hotel. The dark furniture that had probably seen the Reagan presidency and chocolate coloured walls that could do with a new layer of paint judging from the white pieces of plasters here and there. The room was dominated by a bed with a headboard that would've supplied enough wood for a small cabin. On the bed a fully dressed male was lying as if he had simply let himself fall backward to take a nap. In the middle of his forehead a dark star seemed to have been edged. The only other thing that seemed out of place was the blue and green shawl in his right hand.

"Ok Nick, you take the bathroom, I'll start here."

Russell followed the usual protocol and photographed everything that might, no matter how vaguely, be related to the case. Nick soon joined him when it became apparent that the man never used so much as the sink. Their first real surprise came upon opening the man's suitcase.

"Are you kidding me?"

Nick's voice made Russell look up from under the bed.

"D.B., look at this. It's empty. Not even a speck of dust. Either this suitcase has been cleaned out by the killer or this guy walked in here without so much as undies."

"Nevertheless, bag the suitcase." Russell said before diving underneath the bed again.

"I know the drill, boss."

"Aha!" Russell emerged again, this time holding a professional digital camera in his hand. The thing looked in good shape safe for the cracked screen. "This must have fallen under the bed. Let's see what's on it. Oh hell, flat battery."

"No worries, Archie will give us its contents in no time." Nick responded while he took the camera from Russell and bagged it.

"Hello!"

Russell had spotted something interesting in the headboard: a bullet hole.

"I got a bullet." He said after prying it out. "Looks like it was a through and through. That would make sense." He added, pointing at the victims' forehead. "Look at the powder burn. This guy must've really looked down the barrel."

Without losing any more time Nick wiggled the bullet free.

"It looks small." Russell said. "A point 22 possibly."

"Probably, but look at that discoloration. You don't see that often."

Russell looked closer; the bullet did indeed look discoloured. "Looks like it's an old bullet."

Nick bagged the bullet just as David, the assistant-coroner entered.

"So, what do we have here?" He asked.

"Let me put it this way, super Dave, you're probably not going to have a tough time determining cause of death on this one." Nick said.

"Why? Oh, that's why." David added when he saw the man's face.

David looked over the body and started his usual examination. He removed the blood-spattered shawl and gave it to Nick.

"Lever temperature suggests he's been dead for 2 hours at the max. COD…well, no surprise there. And, aha, here's his wallet. Say hello to mr. Frank Walters. Oho, he's a PI."

David handed the wallet over to Russell who checked the man's credentials.

"Yep, we've got ourselves a dead private investigator. This case might actually become interesting."

On the other side of town, still inside the crimelab, Greg Sanders and Sarah Sidle were standing over a table looking at newspaper clippings.

"Greg? What are we doing?" Sarah asked, unsure why she was looking at clippings with titles as 'Can she really be back from the grave?' and 'After a mystery death, now a mystery afterlife'.

"Wel, my dear Sarah,…"

Sarah rolled with her eyes at the tone of Greg's voice; it was evident that he was very enthusiastic about something.

"Ecklie wants something clarified before it becomes mass hysteria. And I volunteered us for the task."

"What? Since when do you volunteer for any of Ecklies' jobs?"

By way of answer Greg lifted one of the clippings up; it showed a shady picture of what could be a woman in an Al Capone suit in front of a building.

"Ever hear of 'The Desert Rose'?"

Sarah could hear Greg's voice quiver with excitement.

"No, but I bet it's not a plant."

Greg grinned before starting his lecture.

"'The Desert Rose' was Las Vegas' most famous concubine. Men would fly half way across the planet for just one night in her arms. She is said to have slept with all the great man of her time. Rumour has it that someone once paid 300.000$ for a single night with her. A lass, at the age of only 29 this fair lady was murdered in the dressing room of her own club. The murderer was never caught. There are many mysteries surrounding 'The Desert Rose' but her death was the greatest of them all: shot in the head with a .22 and found in a locked room."

"She was a prostitute?" Sarah asked.

"Not just a prostitute." Greg said, a bit offended. "She was the queen of the night, the dark rose of this desert town, she…"

"Save it, Greg. What are we doing here?"

"Well, since a week there have been several sightings of her. Hold on, I know what you are going to say: 'Girls playing dress up' but it is much more than that. Several people who have actually known Rose Hunter, as the Desert Rose was really called, have seen her. Apparently this 'ghost' visits all the old places where Rose came. Now, normally we wouldn't pay much attention to this but apparently it's getting out of control; people are actually fighting with each other when they come across someone who looks a bit like the Rose."

"A frenzy?" Sarah asked disbelievingly.

"Yep, so now we have to sort things out and put a stop to it."

Sarah shook her head; now she understood why Greg had volunteered for the job. Greg's love for LV's history was legendary in the lab. She had to admit to herself that this ghost hunt didn't seem too unpleasant to her either.

"Ok." She said. "Let's do this. What do you have so far?"

Greg pointed to a map of Las Vegas with little red dots on it.

"That, a list of the sightings. Now all of these places can either be traced back to the Rose or are in between two of such places. Which means our 'ghost' seems to be travelling between the old places. This one…" Greg pointed at one end of the strip. "…is the Red Rose club, the Desert Rose's home. Incidentally, it was also founded by her and is now led by her old business partner, Sarah Day."

"Seems like a good place to start." Sarah said, feeling a lot more cheerful than when her shift had started.

The night was still young to Las Vegas' standards when Greg and Sarah arrived at The Red Rose club. The building itself had had its best time but nevertheless it seemed well kept. The black paint on the walls could not have been older than a year and the red neon lights in the form of a woman rising up from a rose were certainly not any older. Giving in to Greg's impatient enthusiasm, Sarah followed him into the club, only to be taken aback by the interior. There were all the other clubs had done their best to be the most modern club in town, The Red Rose seemed to have been suspended in time. Greg had shown Sarah several pictures of what the club had looked like on the inside at the time of the murder on The Desert Rose and it seemed to her that nothing had changed ever since. The furniture was new, she could see that, but it looked like exact replicas from the old days. Despite the dated impression it made on her, she also had to admit that it made her feel comfortable: it was different, it was more relaxing. And above all, the music wasn't as loud as in the other clubs or shows in town.

"Can I help you?"

A sweet brunette, no older than 23, walked over. Sarah noticed that, unlike in other clubs where there was no such thing as too naked, this girl's outfit was both elegant and sexy.

"Yes, we would like a word with the manager." Sarah said since Greg's eyes were wondering, not just over the girl's body but all over the place.

"I'm afraid that might not be so easy, miss." The brunette answered, still smiling. "We don't allow just everyone to go backstage and I'm afraid that's where miss Day is."

"Oh, I'm sure they'll make an exception for us." Sarah said sweetly, showing her badge to the girl.

Much to her surprise, the girl grabbed her badge and studied it.

"What's CSI?" She asked.

This time it was Greg who answered: "Crime Scene Investigation, my dear. And I'm pretty sure miss Day will want to talk to us."

The girl gave Sarah her badge back and disappeared for a moment, only to return with an older, grey man in a tuxedo.

"Good evening miss, mister, my name is Alfredo Dawks and I'm head of security here. Gladys said you two wanted a word with miss Day. If you will follow me."

He gallantly walked away, greeting several guests as he showed Greg and Sarah to a door on the right side of the bar. After ticking in a code it gave them access to a sober and light-coloured hallway. Dawks led them to a door on the far end of the hall and knocked.

"Miss Day?" He said opening the door. "Some policemen to see you."

A short answer came from inside the room and Dawks stood aside to let them in. The room could not have been any more different from the club than the CSI-lab from a yard sale: it was a modern room with all the luxury that usually was associated with the office of an executive of a million dollar company. The woman behind the white desk opposite the door was and elderly woman. Sarah would've have estimated her about 65 but Greg had told her earlier that Sarah Day was close to 75.

"What can I do for you, officers?" Sarah Day asked, gesturing a jewelled hand towards a couple of comfortable chairs in front of her.

"Oh, we're not officers." Greg said. "We're crime scene investigators. We're here at the request of sheriff Conrad Ecklie."

"Ecklie? Wow, haven't seen him around in a while. How's the old dog doing?"

Greg and Sarah tried to maintain a straight face as they were processing this bit of subtle and yet spicy information about the Sheriff.

"Eh, working hard on that budget." Was all Sarah could say.

"Mmmh." Sarah Day seemed to know more about that budget than she was saying, judging from the sly smile on her face.

Greg cleared his throat: "Eh, miss Day. As you might be aware there have been several sightings of 'The Desert Rose' in the past week."

For one moment Sarah thought she could see a hint of anger in the woman's eyes but then it was gone. Hey face was a mask of polite interest.

"Things are beginning to get a bit out of hand, you see. People are fighting over it in the streets. That's why we've been asked to investigate the matter." Greg continued.

"Oh boy." Day sighed. "Each year it turns into madness but I must admit that this year takes the price."

"How is that?"

"Well son, the anniversary of Rose's murder is coming up and each year a bunch of airheaded girls dress up as The Desert Rose and run across town and visit her grave. It seems to me that one of these girls might actually bear a certain resemblance to Rose."

"That might well be the case, miss Day." Sarah said. "But the sheriff asked us to investigate."

"I understand. I take it you would like to see her room?"

Greg and Sarah looked at each other with surprise.

"Oh yes, dears. The dressing room of The Desert Rose is intact. I've locked the door 32 years ago and haven't opened it since. Couldn't bring myself to clear it out. I suppose it would have felt like sacrilege."

Minutes later Greg and Sarah, now with their kits, were standing in front of an old door. Sarah Day handed Greg a key and walked away after confirming she was giving them access to the room to investigate it. Greg looked like Christmas had come early this year.

"Oh man, the dressing room of The Desert Rose!"

Greg's voice was quivering with enthusiasm as he opened the door. After turning the lights on Sarah took a look around: everything was covered by a thick layer of dust, nothing seemed disturbed. All by all an old, quiet room. Never the less she jumped up when Greg gasped.

"What?" She said irritated. "What is it?"

All Greg could do, apparently in shock, was point to a dark stain barely visible through the layer of dust on the floor. The stain was in front of an old dressing table, its chair knocked to one side.

"Is that…"

"Yes, that's the exact spot where she got killed." Greg answered. "Looks like they didn't even clean up the blood."

Greg started taking pictures as Sarah was going around the room.

"Hey Greg, what happened with the original case-file?"

"It's still in the archive. There's isn't much though: the bullet they recovered from that wall, next to the window and some pieces of paper. There wasn't much to go on."

"They kept it? Even after all this time?"

"Yep, even for the law some legends don't die so easily."

After he had finished photographing the place, Greg placed his camera on a table next to the door and walked over to a void next to the dressing table.

"Hey Sarah, look at this."

Sarah walked over: "What am I looking at?"

"Nothing. There is nothing here: every cm of the walls in this rooms are covered with furniture, clothing racks or pictures but not this spot."

Greg turned around: "There; that basket looks like it could fit in the void. It's been moved."

"Yeah, but judging from the dust it's been moved 32 years ago, Greg. Most likely the police did that."

"I don't know, everything else seems just in place. Why wouldn't they have put this back?"

Greg got down on his knees and examined the spot. He blew away some of the dust and examined the wall and ground more carefully.

"Hey, look at that!"

Greg pointed at the plinth; about 30 cm's apart there were two very narrow stripes, as if that particular piece of plinth had been replaced. Greg took his pocketknife and, while Sarah took extra photo's, loosened the piece of plinth. Much to their surprise a secret cavity became visible.

"Well, hello secret!" Greg said.

"Is there something in there?"

Greg put his hand in.

"No, looks like it's been emptied. Wait, I got something."

Greg's hand emerged holding and old picture. Getting up to show it to Sarah, Greg turned it around so he could see the image.

"Well, I'll be dammed."

Greg and Sarah stared at the picture: it was a picture of The Desert Rose. But, unlike in any other picture that existed of her, it wasn't glamorous or sexy. It was The Rose dressed as a normal woman, with a dress fitting for a housewife. But still, that wasn't the most remarkable thing about the image; the most remarkable thing was that she was holding a baby in her arms. She was holding the baby as if she would never let it go, smiling into the camera in the way of a proud mother.

"She had a child." Greg said disbelievingly. "She was a mother."

Back in the CSI lab Nick was buzzy with AFIS. Most of the prints taken at the hotel had come up with names of people with minor misdemeanours on their names, proving yet again that cleaning was not a top priority in some hotels. Frank Walters' prints had come up, off course, as well as a lot of unidentified prints of people who hadn't had the pleasure of 'meeting the system' yet.

"Hey Nick."

Nick spun around to see Henry standing in the doorway.

"What is it?"

"Russell wants to see you. I think he found something on your dead PI's camera."

Nick walked over to the digital analysis lab, where Archie and Russell were staring at a monitor.

"And? Anything interesting?" Nick asked upon entering the lab.

Russell turned around: "You could say that. You're not going to believe this, come take a look."

Nick approached and saw several pictures of a young woman in a Al Capone-suit with her hat askew pass by.

"So? Normal pictures, I guess."

"Not really." Archie said enthusiastically. "These are all surveillance photo's; I don't think the girl knew they were taken. Judging from the technical data the oldest were taken 3 days ago, the youngest this evening."

"But that's not the really interesting part, Nick." Russell added. "You know Greg is looking into those sightings of The Desert Rose at the request of Ecklie? Well, so was our guy and it looks like Walters had found her."

"You're serious?" Nick stared at the last picture. "Greg is going to go ballistic when he finds out."

Russell nodded: "Guess the mystery has come back to town."

5


	2. As the day goes by

**2. As the day goes by**

Frank Walters office neat and modern. The only concession to the popular 'film-noir' image of a PI's office were the old movie posters on the walls and the many coffee mugs underneath. But even those had been ordered and even labeled. Everything else in the office seemed to be an expression of Frank Walters' cool efficiency. An efficiency that was mirrored in the tall, blond but professionally dressed Gladys Rivers. Her professional attitude wavered under the devastating news that her boss had died but never the less she tried to keep it together.

"Frank would want me to do things right. He was a bit of a freak where conduct and order were concerned." She told Russell.

"Miss Rivers, do you have any idea who would want to harm your boss?"

"Oh, there must be a few around. Caught spouses, thwarted frauds, dubious businessmen. You name it, Frank's probably busted it."

"He had no specialty?" Nick looked up from the desk where he was checking the laptop.

It was clear from Gladys' expression that seeing Nick in her boss' seat was far from nice.

"No, he liked a change. He loved his job: the chase of it. Even if it meant going through city archives for days on end."

"Do you know what he was working on?"

"No, I am afraid Frank told me very little about it."

"Define little."

She sighed. "He said it was the most unusual case ever, something about chasing ghosts. He… He mentioned something about an old mystery. Oh, and I met his client. He's a rich man, you can easily tell."

Russell interest was stirred. "Do you have a description?"

"Better, I have a name: Clark Linton the third."

Nick whistled. "Wow, your boss certainly had the good clients."

Gladys smiled, a sad and yet proud smile. "And yet he would never ask a client for more than he or she could pay. He once accepted a pair of old shaving knives as payment from a homeless guy as a reward for finding his dog. That's the kind of man he was." She added, her eyes drifting away to a picture of Frank near the window.

"You love him deeply." Russell said quietly.

She turned away from him before answering. "He was 20 years my senior, yet I would have married him right here and now if he asked me. And that is a regret I will have to live with for the rest of my life; that I never had the courage to tell him how I felt."

Archie yawned as he enlarged the digital copy of Greg's picture.

"Looks like someone didn't get enough sleep." Sarah laughed.

"Yeah well, the entire city is going to go mad when this gets out."

"What do you mean?"

"Russell didn't tell you? He's working on a murder case and the camera they found at the camera contained pictures of your ghost, the Desert Rose."

"You're kidding!"

"No, Does Greg know it already?"

"I do now!" Greg came barging in. "I just saw Henry, he told me. Damn, this keeps getting better. How about the picture?"

"Relax, cowboy." Archie snickered. "This picture doesn't hold much information, I'm afraid. Looks like your average family pick nick in some forest. Doesn't look like Nevada though… Lots of plants you don't find here."

Greg leaned in closer. "Does that look like Redwood trees?"

Sarah looked impressed. "You know your trees."

"Ah, family holidays in California. My dad used to go walking the Redwood National Park. Come to think of it…. That on the left, that's trillium and next to it huckleberry."

Archie and Sarah exchanged impressed looks but Greg seemed not to notice it.

"I think this photo was made in California."

"That's great, Greg, but it doesn't help us to find out who the baby is."

Archie nodded. "I'm sorry to say that I can't help you there. There is no way of telling where or when this picture was taken."

Greg sighed and stared at the screen. Sarah looked at her colleague, she knew that he really wanted to find out more. Greg's love for Vegas-history was well known. And this case was perfect for him. Greg got up without taking his eyes of the Rose's face.

"We should go and talk to Charlie Scheltz." He said eventually.

"Who's that?"

"Charlie was the bouncer of the club, actually the head of security. He was sixty or sixty-one at the time of the murder. He always refused to talk to the press. But I'm betting he knows something. He may even know what happened to the Rose's baby."

"Greg, it might not even be hers. It might be a friends or a relatives."

Greg didn't answer but continued to look at the photo. Sarah looked too. She knew that her remark was lost on Greg, and to be honest, on her as well.

Archie wasn't the only one yawning on the job. Nick's mouth opened so wide Russell was convinced he could park a truck in it. They were in their car, outside of the Linton residence, waiting for Brass.

"I hope he shows up soon." Nick said.

"I hope so too. Are you sure this guy is home, Nick? There is absolutely no movement in that mansion. Everything is black."

"Uh, this is Linton we are talking about. He's eccentric, even for Vegas. And that is saying something. He once got shot by LVPD in his own home because he jumped out from behind a curtain yelling 'booo' when a poor rookie and her training officer came checking out his alarm going off."

Russell looked shocked and amused at the same time.

"Are you serious? Waw, that's one whack job. Oh great, there's Brass."

Brass pulled up on the other side of the street and waved at them as he got out. Together they walked up to the front door. There was something wrong… The front door was ajar and the silence spoke more loudly than any stereo ever could. Brass pulled out his gun and gestured to the CSI's to stay behind him.

"Uh Nick, Brass does know that story about Linton, right?" Russell whispered as he reluctantly drew his gun.

Nick grinned. "Sure, guess who the training officer was?"

Brass walked ahead and checked the living room and the kitchen. Just as they had finished checking the dining room and passed a beautiful courtyard, Nick noticed a faint, blue light at the other end, coming through a door. He pointed it out to Brass without talking. As they got closer Russell had an uneasy feeling somewhere in the region of his stomach. He had been in these situations before and had never liked it. He snapped out of it as Brass opened the door further and it creaked like there was no tomorrow. The darkened shadows around them betrayed very little of the purpose of the room but the magnificent square oak desk on their right gave it away. They were in Linton's study and the faint light was coming from a screen on the other end of the room. Evidently Linton had been watching something.

"Nick, I think you better turn the light on." Brass' voice came from the left of the desk.

Russell could hardly make out the shape of the detective. As Nick flicked on the light Russell was temporary blinded but as soon as he adjusted he saw that Brass was looking down at something behind the desk.

"Oh damn." Nick had rounded the desk and stared down as well. Linton's body was lying away from the desk, as if he had been standing behind it when he was shot. The blood had stopped flowing but the bullet hole in the middle of his forehead revealed the manner of his death dramatically. His last expression was still etched upon his aging face, it was one of utter surprise as his murderers actions had been a great surprise.

"Oh hell." Russell looked down on the body. "I think I better call Ecklie on this one. This case is turning into a Hollywoodfilm."

Despite the late hour there was still life in the Scheltz-house. The lights were on and Greg could hear the TV through the window. Sarah had to knock a few times before an elderly man opened the door slightly panting.

"Do come in." He said enthusiastically after they introduced themselves.

"I take it you are mr. Scheltz." Sarah said smiling as they were being led into the living room.

The man nodded and walked over to the TV to turn it off. Greg now saw why Charlie Scheltz had been panting: he was holding the remote of a wii and had evidently been in the middle of a bowling game.

"You have to go with your time, young man." Scheltz snickered when he saw Greg looking. "I'd love to go to the bowling alley 3 blocks from here but most of my friends are dead or in a nursing home. I have no one to play with. I suppose that this is the downside of aging well. I'll be 93 in a month, you know."

Greg and Sarah obliged the old mans' need for admiration by looking astounded and assuring he did not look his age. After sitting down and politely declining his offer of drinks Scheltz stared at them.

"You're here about the Rose, aren't you?"

"How do you know that?" Sarah asked.

"Well dear, I've been following the news and I have mr. Sanders book on Vegas' history… I rather expected him." Scheltz answered smiling.

Greg looked slightly taken aback.

"I got to admit, mr. Sanders." Scheltz continued. "You somewhat look different from the picture on the back of your book. You grew up!"

The man laughed at his own joke and even Sarah, who had seen Greg 'evolve', couldn't manage to stay serious.

"So what do you want to know?"

"Mr. Scheltz, you've known the Rose. You worked for her."

"Oh yes… Let me tell you, she was no whore. What she did was not prostitution, it was art."

"You speak as if you had 'intimate' knowledge of that." Sarah said, somewhat surprised.

Scheltz seemed to be lost in thoughts for a moment before he continued.

"I know, I was just security. But a year before she died I turned sixty and she was always considered of others. Even the cleaning ladies would get extra's for their birthdays and holidays. She knew she had the world and she wanted to share it with others. But for me… God, she was perfection. I was twice her age but I swear, if I had the money and the power, I would have made her mine. It wasn't just her body but… she was smart, she knew how to make you laugh and cry. She could make you feel like the king, even if you were a beggar." He paused for a minute, his eyes fixed on something neither Sarah nor Greg could see.

"I suppose that I was a beggar. To her I might have been a friend but my feelings made me as much of a beggar as all the other men. When I turned sixty she gave me a gift I will never forget. She gave me a night, one night."

"You slept with her?" Greg said unbelievingly.

"Yes, and let me tell you something. All those stories about the Rose's 'skills'… they don't do her justice. I had her for one night, over 30 years ago and I still dream about it today. And when I do, I wake up with one hell of a hard one."

Greg's mouth was open in awe and Sarah was about to say something about it when her phone rang.

"It's our boss. I'm sorry."

"Don't be, you can answer it in the kitchen if you like."

After Sarah left Greg took out a copy of the photo they found in the Rose's dressing room.

"Mr. Scheltz, we went to her dressing room. Miss Day kept it like it was all those years ago."

For one moment Greg saw a flash of anger at the mentioning of Day's name but he pushed it away, anxious as he was to see his reaction to the photo.

"We found something the police overlooked back then. We found this photo in a hidden compartment."

Greg handed the old man the picture and watched him carefully. He was not disappointed. Scheltz' face was drained of all color in an instance and his lips changed into thin lines. After a minute or so he lowered his head as if to shield his expression while he unintentionally crushed the photo with his hand.

"You've seen this before."

"Young man." Scheltz spoke without moving. "Don't go looking for something you won't find. Find the girl who is causing the frenzy in town, find her murderer if you can but don't go looking for answers on this."

"Mr. Scheltz…"

Sarah interrupted him. "That was Russell. They just found Linton. He's dead. Murdered."

Greg got up. But both of them looked at Scheltz as the man rose from his seat, his expression a sort of fierce defiance.

"So the end will come."

Back in the mansion Nick was busy processing the scene. He and Russell were going through the place with a magnifying glass but there was no trace of any documents on Walters' case. Nick got up from under the desk and looked around the room. Dave had picked up the body earlier and had made the careful estimation that Linton had been shot some 4 hours earlier. Russell was checking the TV-set for prints when Brass entered, followed by a beautiful women of an undetermined age.

"So, no signs of forced entry. Guess Linton let his murderer in himself and brought him back here. Anything here?"

Russell shook his head. "Nothing, no prints, nothing. The place doesn't seem disturbed at all. If something is missing we'll have to wait for personnel or family to help us."

"Good for you then that mrs. Jarniz turned up."

Mrs. Olga Jarniz was as tall as Brass and of normal build. Her auburn hair was in a simple ponytail and her make-up was a natural style. She nodded at both Nick and Russell while maintaining a professional attitude. She was obviously used to being in charge.

"Good evening. I am… was mr. Lintons' butler and head of household."

"A female butler?" Nick looked surprised.

"Off course, sir. This is the 21th century. I can tell you at first glance that nothing seems to be missing. The only thing out of the ordinary is mr. Lintons' desk."

"How come?"

"It's empty. Mr. Linton was always working on one thing or the other. A story or a legend, anything that peaked his interest at the moment. I believe he was looking into the mysterious death of a famous prostitute at the moment. His desk should be full of papers, I've seen them myself."

"So the killer took the papers. I think that confirms it's the same killer of Walters." Russell said. "Mrs. Jarniz, do you know whether your boss had discovered something?"

"Yes, yesterday he was ecstatic. He had been to the city archives all day and had met up with the PI helping him. Apparently they had a lead, as he called it. He said that he had solved the mystery of the locked room. He said that he knew who had done it and was going to go public. I assumed he was… well, raving again."

After the butler had left the room Nick, Greg and Brass looked at each other.

"So they knew something." Nick said.

"But the killer found out." Brass looked at the desk. "Linton led his killer in. Either he was right and was unafraid to be alone with him or the killer had him at gunpoint the moment he opened the door."

"Or he was wrong about the identity of the killer but our killer didn't want to take any risks." Russell muttered while staring at the desk as well.

A hour later the team met up in the lab to compare their cases which were now undoubtedly connected. A somewhat cranky Ecklie had joined them. Finlay and Morgan were on assignment in Henderson.

"So, what do we have so far?" Ecklie demanded.

"A rumour, the old mystery of a corpse in a locked room, a security guard who knows more than he says and a dead millionaire and a dead PI." Greg cheerfully piped up.

It earned him a look of disdain from Ecklie. "Could you possibly sound a little less enthusiastic, Sanders?"

At that moment a proud looking Hodges walked in.

"I may have something that interests you all."

"Oh, do tell." Nick answered sarcastically.

"I went looking on some websites that post sightings of dead stars and such and I found this."

He showed them the photo of a young woman in front of a smoothie bar. She was dressed as the Rose and holding cup. The photo was clearer than any before but it did not change the fact that the young woman looked identical to the Rose.

"I took the liberty to showing this to Archie." Hodges continued. "He made a facial comparison with an old photo of the true Rose. The results were interesting to say the least."

He fell silent, evidently for the dramatic effect. However he caught the eye of a glaring Russell and hastily continued.

"There is a 87% match between the photos. Archie said that the difference can be accounted for by the age of the older photo and the age of the Rose. But basically, it's the same woman, without aging."

The silence in the room seemed surreal. Everyone stared at the two photos on the table. Eventually it was Greg who broke the silence.

"The Rose is back." He said disbelievingly.

5


	3. Disbelief in murder

**3. Disbelief in murder**

The hotel room had little personality. The walls were a faded yellow with mismatched curtains of a dark shade of red. The furniture was what you would expect to find in a hotel room but no more than that. Never the less, it was adequate for her. She had no interest in being inside, not with so much to discover out there. This city was incredible, it held all of her past and soon it might even become her future again. She looked into mirror and put the hat right, that is to say, a little askew. It was time to venture out again. She turned away from the mirror and her gaze fell on the dark screen of the TV. In it she saw the ghostly outline of a woman dressed in an Al Capone-suit. A ghost she was, a relic from the past. She smiled, lost in thoughts.

The hotel hallway resembled the room; unpersonal. Its grey and white walls were complemented with a dark brown carpet which had evidently been put their for practical reasons rather than esthetic ones. Its irony was lost on the hasty figure walking by, the eyes fixed on the room numbers. A loud giggling made the figure jump up and retreat in the opening of a room being cleaned. Two girls chatting ran by in rather a hurry. As soon as the girls had rounded the far corner of the hallway the figure moved forward again. All too soon the number she had been looking for appeared on one of the doors. Stealth like, but determined, the figure moved towards the doors. Inside someone appeared to be moving around. The figure tried the doorknob.

Inside the room she looked down at the knob turning. She sighed, someone mistaking the room for theirs again. With an easy walk she crossed the room and opened the door. The last thing she ever saw was the barrel of a gun.

Bobby was yawning as Greg and Russell walked in.

"What are you doing here?" Greg asked the ballistics expert. "You work day, don't you?"

"Yep, but that idiot got himself shot in the foot during a reenactment battle. Can you believe it? So now I have to step in."

"Huh, so you got anything for us?"

"I do actually, and you're going to love it, Greg." Bobby said grinning.

Russell waited patiently while Bobby got the bullets. Greg on the other end seemed positively charged with electricity.

"Ok." Bobby eventually said, holding 3 evidence bags up. "This one was retrieved from the bedframe of the hotel room where you found Walters." Bobby placed it on the table in front of them, next to a photo showing the marks on the bullet.

"This one, was retrieved from Linton. And this one, came from the original crime."

Greg gasped. "That's… That's the bullet that killed her, the Desert Rose."

Bobby rolled his eyes to Russell as he put the bullet next to the third photo.

"Notice anything strange?"

"Yeah." Russell said. "Either that's the same photo three times or those bullets were fired by the same gun."

"The second actually. It looks that the original killer is on the lose again."

Greg stared at the bullets. "So whoever killed the Rose, probably killed the other two as well. Why? Because Linton and Walters had found something? And what about the girl running around putting this city in a craze?"

Russell nodded. "It's all connected. What I would like to know is what Scheltz's role is in all of this? Like you said, he reacted strangely on that photo but also… He slept with her, he knew everything and everyone around her. Maybe he knows something, something he's not telling us. I'm going to ask Brass to bring him in. 93 or not, it's time he talked."

"Somebody mentioned my name?" Brass walked in with a cool air.

"What are you doing here?"

"Came to give you this." He handed a few documents to Russell and Greg. "LVPD tracked down someone who's voice had not been heard yet. Your Rose had a niece in California."

"No way!" Greg said disbelievingly. "That would account for the photo with her baby."

"It's not hers, Greg." Russell said, looking into the papers. He handed them to Greg pointing to a passage at the bottom.

"See, Martha Cliers had twins about six months prior to the Rose's death. This is a picture of them at 8 months. The baby in the picture is not her daughter but her niece's."

"That doesn't make sense." Greg said, still not willing to believe it. "Why would she hold only one baby then? Why wouldn't both babies be in the picture then?"

Brass sighed. "Greg, I know how much you love the history of Las Vegas and all the mystery that goes with it but this is no mystery. It's not hers."

"Then why would she hide that photo?"

"Give it up, Greg. Concentrate on the murderer, that's mystery enough for now."

Somehow both Brass and Russell felt compassion for Greg as they saw the disappointment settle in his face.

Sarah Day had made herself comfortable in Brass' office. In fact, the moment she walked in it looked like it was hers. Even though Day was already well over 60 she dressed in a rather sexy way. She still looked good and she knew it. Every inch of her radiated her confidence. She smiled at Brass and even gave a warm look over her shoulder as Russell walked in.

"Miss Day, this is D.B. Russell, night shift supervisor."

"Nice to meet you." There was something vaguely seductive about her voice.

Russell thought that all by all she was not as attractive as she thought. Despite being well conserved her looks began to crack. It was difficult to say what exactly it was but Russell assumed that the effort Day was making in maintaining her looks was exactly that which would be their undoing. The color of her hair was just a little too bright, her make-up too thick and her clothes too tight. It was sad really.

"So, miss Day, what can we do for you?" Brass tone betrayed nothing.

"Well, captain Brass, I know you are not allowed to say anything about an ongoing investigation but… you must understand. Rose was my friend. She and I build up the club together. If you know who her killer is… you understand, don't you? I have to know."

It was superb, the performance would have won her an Oscar if there had been a category for it. But it was just still an act. Russell could imagine this would have won over any man who was not accustomed to it. Unfortunately for Day neither Russell nor Brass fell in that category. Both men were accustomed to being lied to, to have other people try to wiggle information out of them. It rarely worked. Russell observed Brass as the latter looked at Day. Brass hadn't moved a muscle, his arms still relaxed on his desk, hands together. When he finally spoke his voice sounded as smooth as possible with him.

"Miss Day, you are right. I can't say anything about an ongoing investigation. You must understand me: to give information to a third party could jeopardize the entire investigation. I am sure that you don't want that. I'm sure you want the murderer behind bars even more than we do since he killed your friend."

Day only displayed the minimum of disappointment. Brass knew that an unexperienced person would give it another go, insisting a little more. Only someone who knew that such a thing would be suspicious would leave it at that, someone who had experience of the criminal justice. Day was just such a person. The self-declared friend of the Rose, her business partner and advisor was nothing more than a shrewd businesswoman. She knew when to back down.

"You are right, captain Brass. I should not even have asked. I shall leave you. I can assume you will tell me when the investigation is finished though?" She added while getting up.

Brass allowed himself a thin little smile which sent shivers over Russells back.

"Off course. But now that you are here, there might be something you can help us with."

"Please, anything."

"We've been looking into the past and we were wondering if you know any relatives of the Rose who could tell us more about her."

Day seemed slightly taken aback. She hesitated before answering.

"She never mentioned any family, captain. I'm sure I would have remembered if she did. She often said that me and the girls were her only family. May I go now? The club will open in an hour and I need to receive a couple of VIP's."

"That was all."

Both men watched her walk away. Russell was the first to offer his thoughts.

"Wow, that's one viper in disguise."

"No kidding, I've seen her kind here before. She's a businesswoman, will go over dead bodies to get her way. Solving the crimes is not very high on her list of priorities. Her business thrives because of the legend of the Rose. Solving her murder could diminish it. On the other hand, if it was solved it would be better for her to have a hand in it so she could claim 'victory'."

"Still, she lied. We already found the niece. Why would she do that?"

Brass made a gesture. "Don't know, maybe she genuinely didn't know. I have a feeling the Rose didn't see eye to eye with her all the time."

The hotel to which Nick and Sarah had been called was no grand luxury but it looked clean, the kind of budget hotel you'd take if you didn't have that much money but still preferred some comfort. It was situated in a calm area not that far of the strip. It was surrounded by shops and some living blocks. There were some people in the street looking at the hotel and the police that was going in and out. Nick smiled; he thought it was the sign of a good neighborhood when people actually came out to see what was going on when the cops pulled up. Suddenly something caught his eye and his smile froze. A young woman had just broken away from the small group of people who had gathered at the end of the street watching the hotel. She walked towards the corner and just as she was going to round it she stopped and turned. She looked one last time at the scene before the hotel and then she was gone.

"Hey, sleepy head! Are you ok? You look as white as a sheet."

Sarah slapped Nick on the shoulder, making him jump.

"Huh. I… I'm fine. Did you see her?"

"See who?"

"Well, I think… I think I just saw her."

"See who, Nick? You're not making any sense."

"The Rose, Sarah. I just saw the Rose!" Nick got more and more exited. "She walked away from the from those people over there. I saw her!"

Sarah sighed. "Nick, you're getting infected with this case. Greg, yes, from him I would expect this but please… not you as well."

Nick stared at her for a second. Every line in her face suggested her impatience with this case. Sarah had never been one for legends and folklore. But this was a bit harsh, she genuinely seemed to dislike this case.

"You really don't like this case, do you?"

"Let's see, a girl decides to play dress up and ends up causing a frenzy in a city that's already high on alcohol and cocaine. Result: 2 dead and an entire team of CSI's on a ghost hunt."

This time Nick started smiling. He understood. "Aaah, you were supposed to go on holiday today and Ecklie said you can't go until this case is solved, didn't he?"

"Spot on! Now let's get on with it."

They passed the receptionist who was as white as a sheet but talking to an officer and followed another officer dawn a grey and white hallway. A detective they hadn't met before was waiting for them. He didn't look too happy.

"Hey, Nick Stokes and Sarah Sidle, crime lab."

"Detective Novak. Yes, I'm new and no, I didn't know who the Rose was."

Nick raised his eyebrows to the young man who would've looked like a blond surfgod if it hadn't been for the fact that he was 5'2.

"Sorry, but I've been bugged about that for the past half hour."

"Don't worry, but… why are they asking you about the Rose?" Sarah asked.

As an answer Novak pointed to the body that was lying in front of the open door. She was dressed in the typical Al Capone-suit of the Rose. She wore the same lipstick and had the same blue eyes. The only difference was the short blond hair. The Rose had been dark brown, cut of at the shoulder.

"Oh hell, I think this is the final goodbye to your holiday, Sarah." Nick said.

"I'm going to kill whoever is responsible for this." Sarah responded.

"You think it's her?" Sarah said some 15 minutes later.

Both CSI's were in the middle of processing the room, the body still were it had fallen since the coroner was taking his time arriving.

"I don't think so. I think Greg mentioned that the Rose was 5'3 and had dark brown hair at shoulder length."

"Well I have something that might explain the hair."

Sarah was holding up a wig which resembled the Rose's last hair style.

"Huh, still no, Sarah. You forget, I saw her in front of the hotel."

Sarah sighed and wanted to return to work, only to be stopped by a familiar voice coming from the doorway.

"Saw who, Stokes?"

Ecklie was standing just outside the door next to Russell. Neither of them looked very happy. Although Ecklie was a lot worse at concealing it.

"Huh…" Nick didn't really know how to explain this one the sheriff of Las Vegas. "Well… When we arrived here I think I saw the Rose walk away."

Russell, who had kneeled next to the victim, looked up and Ecklie gave Nick a look of pure disbelieve.

"Keep it together, Stokes. The last thing I can use is a CSI hallucinating."

"I was not hallucinating, Conrad!" Nick protested. "I really saw someone that looked exactly like the Rose walk away from the hotel."

"It might be a good idea to check the security tapes of the hotel, Conrad." Russell said, getting back up. "Maybe Nick really saw her, could give us a clue about who she really is. Hell, we might even get lucky and get the killer on camera."

"What if they are the same?"

Everyone looked at Sarah.

"Think about it, guys. A mysterious woman, who looks exactly like the Desert Rose, shows up in Vegas. Nobody knows who she is or can even find her. Yet, shortly after people start seeing her, bodies start appearing. I don't think that's coincidence, do you?"

Russell sighed. "You're right but then again; about everyone in this case has a motive of some sort or is acting suspicious in another way. There's Scheltz, the old security manager, who isn't telling everything he knows. And did I mention that Brass and I got a visit from miss Day, who was most interested in any leads we might have?"

Ecklie seemed slightly taken aback by the mentioning of that name. "She's been to see you? Well, she is a businesswoman who is running the Rose's old club."

Sarah smelled a slight opportunity for revenge and took it.

"Yeah, talking about miss Day, I've also met her. She said she hadn't seen you at the club for a while, she actually sounded worried. Greg and I assured her that you were just working hard on that budget."

Ecklie's face was a goldmine. It was hard to tell which emotion was going to win: fury or embarrassment. Russell suddenly showed a lot of interest in the doorknob and Nick decided it was safer to follow his superior's example and dusted a mirror for prints… for the second time. Ecklie somehow managed to get his face back straight and looked at Sarah for a moment before turning around and leaving.

"I want a report by tomorrow morning, Russell." Was the last thing they heard him say.

His departure was made up by detective Novak walking in.

"So, anyone interested in the details of our vic?"

Russell looked slightly surprised by the cheerful tone of the detective but decided to hold out on the verdict.

"Come on, Novak, don't keep us waiting." Nick joked, he had immediately liked the detective.

Novak cleared his throat before starting.

"The vic's name is Felicia Townsend, 23. Comes from Connecticut and was here to celebrate her divorce."

"At 23?" Sarah sounded surprised.

"Huh yeah, according to the bartender, to whom she spilled the contents of her life story, she married at 19 because she was pregnant but she lost the baby and eventually her husband. The latter to her best friend. Felicia was rather fond of dress up, she wanted to be a performance artist who dressed up as famous people, which would explain her current outfit, I suppose."

"So she came to practice." Russell said thoughtfully.

"Well, according to the manager she had been asking questions on what a girl would have to do to get permanent lodgings. I think she got under Vegas' spell." Novak concluded grinning.

This time Russell reached his verdict about the young detective. Despite his somewhat humoristic approach to the situation, Russell decided to like him.

"Good job, detective."

"Oh, but I kept the best for the last, sir." He held up a small bag. "State of the art security tapes. Turns out the managers' brother-in-law is a big shot at a security firm. In return for the newest gadgets he lets his in-law use the hotel as a try out area for new security-hardware."

"And he had no problem giving these up?" Sarah asked, taking the tapes from Novak.

"Ah well, it took him a phone call to his in-law but they decided that it was more profitable to give them. I guess they hope we will be so impressed that the city will become a client."

"They think that or you suggested it?" Russell said amused but the detective merely shrugged. "Sarah, get those to the lab and start working on it. I'll help Nick finish up here."

"Why me?"

"Because Ecklie can still come back and if you want any hope of your holiday going through you better stay out of his way right now."

Greg and detective Moreno pulled up in front of Scheltz's one storey high house. Everything seemed absolutely calm.

"You think he has anything to do with it?" Moreno asked Greg as they observed the house from the car.

"I don't know. He looks nice enough but… so did a lot of cold blooded killers I've met before and he was definitely hiding something. He knows something, Carlos. You should've seen his reaction on that photo. It was like her very image was hurtful to him. I don't think he knows about the child though."

"Didn't Russell say it was probably her niece's?"

"Yeah well" Greg responded irritated "I'm not convinced."

They got out of the car and walked up the driveway. Everything was dark and quiet, nothing moved. Greg rang the bell twice but got no response. He got slightly worried; what if Scheltz was really the murderer? Had Greg tipped him of by showing him that photo? Moreno pulled his gun and walked away to the side of the house. Greg did the same towards the other side. Both men were completely focused and checked everything: every window, every flowerbed and plant. Nothing looked disturbed when they met up in the garden.

"Maybe he's gone out to get groceries?" Moreno suggested.

Greg shook his head. "Something is off. The house is completely closed up. Every window I saw was closed, the doors are bolted. It's like he didn't expect to come back."

Greg looked around the modest and neat garden before continuing.

"He said something, when we met him. After I showed him the picture and Sarah had said Linton was dead he said: "So the end will come." I hope he hasn't gone to meet his end."

"HEY! What the hell are you two doing there?!"

Both men jumped. From the other side of the fence an older man was looking at them, a cane raised in his hand as if he was going to hit them with it.

"This is Scheltz' property, you know. You two are trespassing."

"Relax, old man. We're with the LVPD." Moreno said, showing the man his badge.

"Oh, I'm sorry." The man looked rather sheepish now. "I thought you might be intruders. Nowadays…"

"Don't worry, it's nice to see citizens looking after eachother." Moreno said smiling.

"Now that you are here, maybe you can help us with something." Greg said, still a bit shaken. "Have you seen where mr. Scheltz went?"

"Oh djeezes, that one doesn't go away very often. Only leaves his house for groceries and doctor appointments. I don't think he has that many friends left. But this morning he left alright. Something fishy about it too."

"How come?"

"You see, Scheltz might be 93 but he still does his shopping by bike, or car if it's too far. He does everything himself. This morning however, he got picked up by a car."

"Do you remember what kind?" Moreno sounded interested.

"Hmmm, black, standard car really. Could be a Mercedes. Strangest thing wasn't the car, actually."

"What was it, then?" Greg asked.

"It was the way Scheltz was dressed. You see, he never wears anything else than T-shirts and comfortable pants. He says he has reached an age where he doesn't have to dress up. This morning he was wearing a suit, a black suit with white shirt and a black tie. Frankly, he looked like an over aged body builder. Hell, he was even wearing sunglasses."

Moreno and Greg thanked the neighbor and went back to the car. It wasn't after they got it that they talked to each other again.

"What do you think?" Moreno said.

Greg looked puzzled. "A young woman who looks like the Rose walks through Vegas and all of a sudden people connected to her start dying. Everyone involved has some kind of motive to pull the trigger. And now, Scheltz is gone too, left his house dressed in his old work suit. Did he go with the murderer? Or is he the murderer, out to get his final victim?"

6


	4. at mystery's end

4. At mystery's end

The morgue's clinical look was enough to make even the toughest men shiver. The coldness of the room was enhanced, not only by the lower temperature but also by the light. No man or woman passing through the doors ever forgot the room. But then again, passing these doors was not something you did for your pleasure. Doc Robbins was standing over the body of Felicia Townsend, gazing into her face as if he expected her to answer his questions directly. He didn't notice Russell until the man was standing right in front of him.

"So, what did you find?"

"Aaah, are you trying to give me a heartattack? I don't fancy ending up on this table just yet, you know."

"Sorry doc, but you seemed lost in thoughts there."

"More like lost in sadness: here we have a young woman, fresh out of a bad marriage, who comes to the city to chase her dreams and she ends up in a nightmare. Speaking of which, did you notify next of kin?"

"Brass did… her ex-husband doesn't want to claim her body and her mother went missing 19 years ago, dad died 3 years ago of cancer."

"Dear god, that's tough! Anyway, cause of death is quiet forward, really. Clean shot to the head. I send the bullet to ballistics but from first glance I can tell you that it looks identical to the others."

"Anything else?"

"Not really, she was a healthy young woman."

"Listen, you mind sending a blood sample to DNA? Maybe…"

"…she is the Rose's daughter?"

"Yeah, it's a long shot. But I was more thinking along the way of niece or so."

"I'll do it but I doubt something will come out of it."

At that moment Brass walked in, briskly as ever. His face had a slightly grey shade to it since he hadn't slept like most of the team. Yet his manners were impeccable as ever, that is to say, businesslike with a hint of sarcasm or sarcastic with a hint of businesslike, depending on what end of the stick you got.

"Morning, doc."

"Captain Brass, what brings you down here?"

"Oh, a little update for Russell. Looks like Scheltz did a runner."

Russell looked surprised. "No kidding, a 93 year old on the run? Are you sure?"

Brass nodded. "Wasn't at home , according to a neighbor he took off this morning dressed in a black suit en sunglasses. Not his usual style according to the man."

Russell thought for a moment before speaking. "You said he did a runner. Does that mean you like him for the murders?"

"Well, what can I say? He had opportunity, possible motive and considering the age of the bullets it might be his gun too, the one from his days as security for the Rose."

"He had a gun?"

"Yep, I checked the records. Mr. Scheltz always played by the rules. That is, until now. He had a .22 in those days. Anyway, the guy won't get far. I put a warrant out for his arrest."

"Is that necessary?" Doc Robbins asked. "From what I heard he could be as easily the next victim as the killer."

Brass shrugged. "In that case he's better off in protective custody." He turned to Russell. "Any news on the surveillance you got from the hotel?"

Russell shook his head. "No, but Sarah and Archie are checking it right now. We will know as soon as they find something."

Sarah was yawning as a frustrated Greg walked in. Archie, who was about to make a joke about the case, took a look at their faces and decided against it. He concentrated on his job instead.

"Wow, not enough sleep?" Greg joked while looking as fatigued as Sarah.

"Well, it's not exactly a standard case, is it?"

Greg noticed the frustrated tone and sat down without further comments while Archie reviewed some of the footage they brought in.

"So…" Archie said after a few minutes "Give me footage like this every day because it's a dream. This really is cutting edge technology. Hair sharp images, motion activated camera's… that's a smart move."

"You think?" Sarah said.

"Uhu, saves us a lot of time. Normal camera's keep on recording, recordings take too much space and have to be deleted. Often without being checked. This here is motion activated, only records when something is moving."

Archie hit a few keys before continuing. "This is the hotel lobby just before the murder took place. As you can see, it's pretty quiet… I think the receptionist is about to fall asleep." He added with a smirk.

"Aah, movement. Someone coming in."

From the left bottom corner a figure had appeared. Obviously a woman, the figure walked confidently through the lobby and into an elevator. Her face was never visible due to a small hat.

"Do we know what floor she goes to?" Sarah asked, suddenly wide awake. She had the strange sensation she had seen the woman before.

"She got out on… the second floor. What a surprise, Felicia Townsend's room is on that floor. She is certainly walking in the right direction.."

Sarah, Greg and Archie watched as the woman kept on going, only to pause and hide in a side corridor as two girls ran by. Their excitement, though well hidden, rose as they saw her go straight for the door to Townsend's room. It was with a certain degree of sadness that Sarah saw the woman pull out a gun as soon as she had knocked and to see her fire it at soon as the door opened. The woman paused for a second to stare at her dead victim and then turned around briskly and walked back from where she came.

"Cool as a cucumber." Greg said. "She doesn't run, she just walks. Do you have anything with her face on it?"

"No, nothing. She goes out the same way she came."

"You know…" Sarah said slowly. "I think I've seen her before."

"I don't know." Greg responded. "There is something vaguely familiar but… hang on." He pointed at the screen. "There, right there. She passed that mirror. Archie, try to use the mirror. Maybe it shows her face."

"Good find."

Archie's fingers flew over the keyboard much in the same manner as those of a piano player. Slowly an image began to form but before it was even complete Sarah gasped and Greg slowly stood up, he's eyes open in shock. The image showed none other than miss Sarah Day, the Rose's old partner and the current owner of the Red Rose Club.

"I take it you know her?" Archie said, eyeing his friends.

"That's Sarah Day." Greg responded breathlessly. "It was her, she killed her."

"I'll warn Brass. We need to bring her in right now." Sarah said, getting up.

But as she reached the door she heard Greg gasp again.

"What?"

But Greg didn't respond. Sarah returned to the screen and was flabbergasted. There, in plain view of the camera's was a familiar figure, walking towards the side exit. From the corner of her eye Sarah saw Greg's jaw drop. The figure walked in a mesmerizing way, she seemed to be slightly dancing. Her slender legs were fitted in straight pants and complemented with what was obviously a custom made jacket. Her hat was a little askew and added to the mystery but it did not hide her face, not this time. Her lips were beautiful and full with a slight upwards curve. Her nose what straight but not too thin. Her eyes were in the shade of her hat but her hair was not; if fell to her shoulders in a straight line.

"It's her." Greg said breathlessly. "The Desert Rose… she's alive."

"This is impossible, this must be some mistake, maybe a good actress." Sarah said but her voice was less convinced than at the start of this case.

It wasn't until long after the Rose walked off screen that the three could shake of the enchantment they seemed to have been under.

"I, uh, I got to talk to Brass. You… you better warn Russell as well."

Greg still stared at the screen. "Yeah… I'll… I'll do that…"

The shock of Day being the murderer rang through the building. No one had really considered her a viable suspect. Granted, she had behaved a bit suspiciously but still… why would the owner of the Red Rose Club and one time friend of the Desert Rose herself have done all this? What was worse, why did she kill the Rose? For that too was hers to answer for.

Both Greg and Sarah didn't waste any time. Greg found Russell in his office where he had been doing some paperwork.

"What is it, Greg?" Russell said, looking up from the rapport. He could see Greg was in shock.

"We know who the killer is! Archie got a clear image on one of the surveillance tapes. It's Sarah Day! It's the Rose's own business partner and friend! She did it, she's responsible for all this!"

"Wow, calm down. Are you sure? Have you talked to Brass yet?"

"Sarah is on her way there. Russell, we've possibly solved one of the biggest murder mysteries of this city!"

"Don't celebrate yet. Let's see what she has to say for herself."

He sighed when he saw Greg's face. "Allright, come on. Let's go with Brass and the arresting officers."

Greg didn't even wait for Russell, he just raced off like a puppy after his favorite ball. Russell followed him out rolling his eyes.

Despite the early evening hour there were already quiet a number of people in and around the club. Russell had to remind himself that the anniversary of the murder was due and that Day had planned events surrounding that. It was sick, really. All these years she had pretended to be taking care of the Rose's legacy, commemorating her life and death while all these years she was the one responsible for her death. Russell, Greg and Sarah followed Brass and 2 officers in to the club. The music was a bit louder than last time but neither the crowd nor the waitresses had changed at all. In fact, it was the same waitress from Greg's first visit who walked up to them. Much to Brass' indignation, she ignored him and talked directly to Greg and Sarah.

"Hello there, couldn't stay away, could you? So, are you showing your friends around?"

Greg opened his mouth to answer but Russell beat him to it.

"We are here on official business, dear. But you could help us with something."

He held up the bag with the blue and green shawl they had found in at the first crime scene.

"You know this?"

Gladys frowned. "Uh yeah, it's miss Day's actually. She had it handmade in some shop in India. It's quiet unique. She let me borrow it to go to my sisters' wedding. She's nice that way. What is it doing in that bag?"

Russell looked at Brass who sighed. "It seems, missy, that your boss might not be so nice. We're here to arrest her. Where is she?"

Gladys didn't answer, she merely stared at Brass with shocked eyes, unable to take in what Brass was saying. Greg, unpatient to hear the reason behind all this murder, pushed past Sarah and towards Brass.

"I know where she might be."

He pointed at a door at the other end of the bar. "Her office is right through there."

He made a move as if he was going to walk towards it but he was stopped by Brass.

"I go first, Sanders, remember?"

Greg nodded, suddenly a bit embarrassed.

By the time they reached the door every head in the room had turned and somehow the tension that had risen from the scene drowned out all music. Later, in every interview given by onlookers, no one could say which music was playing, even the dj didn't remember. But everyone remembered the grim look on the officers faces, their hands on their guns and the CSI's with them.

They found Day at her desk. At first she didn't look up, busy as she was stacking papers but when she did the color slowly drained from her face. For one moment she seemed to be frozen in time. It seemed like a lifetime before she made her move, it was one with defiant grace. She stood up with all the elegance she could muster. Greg realized that this too was part of old Vegas' history. Day had been around longer than most casino's and their notorious owners. She was a monument in her own right. But now she was being brought down and she had decided to meet her fate with dignity. She was a coldblooded killer and yet the gesture by which she offered Brass her wrists so she could cuff her was almost regal.

"So gentlemen, I suppose this is it." Still defiant she addressed them as if the was at the end of a show. "The curtain is coming down, isn't it? Or shall it go up?"

"It's curtain down for you." Brass said in his normal tone. "Where you are going there are no limelight's, it's over."

She sighed. "Perhaps, but then again, that's the faith of every showgirl. Most of us go quietly. I won't. I go out with a bang. No one will ever forget my name."

"Nor will anyone ever forget the Rose. No matter what you do, she will always outshine you." Greg said.

She looked at him with mild surprise.

"Oh, you think that is why I killed her? Dear, I fear you have too much of a romantic heart. I killed her for far more earthlier reasons."

"Save it for the station, lady, start walking." An impatient Brass interrupted.

By the time they reached the doors of the club a small crowd had gathered. One or two reporters had somehow managed to get there just in time to snatch a shot when Day came out, flanked by Brass and Russell. Both men hesitated for a minute as they emerged from the shadow of the club into the daylight. As soon as his eyes had reached an agreement with the fierce sunlight Russell noticed blob of black in the right corner of his sight. As he turned Charlie Scheltz came into view. His sunglasses pushed back on his head, he was beaming at Russell.

"Mr. Scheltz."

"I'm back where I belong and that witch is finally going down."

"You knew?" Greg said disbelievingly.

"I guessed. But without proof there was nothing I could do, nothing but hold onto to the one thing she couldn't get her hands on."

With a simple gesture he offered Greg an old, brown envelop which was evidently full of papers.

"You are going to need this to fill in the blanks."

Greg accepted the envelope with a dumbstruck expression so Russell stepped in.

"We are going to need you to come in as well, mr. Scheltz."

"Off course, lead the way. I'll be more than happy to oblige."

30 minutes later Day was sitting in front of Russell and Brass making a full confession.

"I could lie, I suppose and play for time but what good would it do me? No, let's get it out. I killed them all. The 'Rose', that detective, our nosy billionaire, that little twat… I did all of that." She said dreamily.

"Why?" Russell said, shocked at her behavior.

"Why not? Rose had it all, beauty and fame, money… lots of it. And I wanted it. I was never more than the assistant, the has-been showgirl who ended up being a slave for the new generation. A generation that out did me at every step of the way."

"You were jealous."

"Don't sound so surprised, mr. Russell. I'm sure this isn't the first time jealousy turns out to be the motive for murder."

She paused for a second, lost in thought. Russell realized that it was all staged; her behavior, her voice, even the little pause just now. She was putting up her last performance, she was making the best of it before the curtain would finally come down.

"Why the others?" Brass asked.

"They knew. Waters' clumsy attempts to get information on the Rose's will is what alarmed me. I knew right away it was that nutcase of a millionaire who was behind it. It had been tried before, with private investigators, people who pursued theories on how or why she died. But he was the first who actually attempted to find a will. Most people assumed there wasn't one. After all, she wasn't very old when she died."

"You say she had a will?" Russell asked.

"Oh yes, you found that picture, didn't you? That's why she made it. For that little brat of hers."

"So there really was a child." Brass said calmly while thinking that Greg was probably going to go nuts.

"She had the child less than a year before I killed her. She had it in secret, out of fear of the mob. Even I didn't know where it was. All I knew was that it was a girl and that she was Rose's heir, not me."

There was another pause before Day continued.

"So I took care of it. Killed the Rose, destroyed the will. Problem solved."

Russell felt the chills go down his spine at this sudden cold summary of her actions.

"Then how did Waters and Linton know about the will?" Brass asked coldly, not at all impressed with her 'performance'.

She raised her eyebrows at him before answering. "They didn't. I suppose it was one of Waters' hunches. They didn't find it off course. But they did get confirmation that one had existed. I had to care of it. So I called Waters and pretended to be a waitress from the Red Rose who had some information for him. Asked him to book a room and meet me at a certain hour. Case closed… for him."

"Linton was easier. I just walked in while he was watching TV. I told him that he had won, told him that I was willing to give him a full confession if he showed me what he had on me. The fool fell for it."

"That doesn't explain Felicia Townsend." Russell said calmly.

"Who?" It was her first tone of surprise.

"The Rose wannabee you killed. The girl in room 84?" Russell tried. "It's that murder that led us to you. You were caught on tape."

Strangely Sarah Day did not respond, she only stared at him.

"It was a mistake, wasn't it? You never meant to kill her. Someone else in that hotel was a threat to you. Someone we didn't know about."

"Despite being a club manager, gentlemen, I always had a problem with reading numbers. I thought she was there but it could also have been room 48 off course. Ah, I suppose it doesn't matter now." She added before losing herself in her silence again.

Behind Russell and Brass the door opened and Greg came in. He was holding some papers. After nodding to Brass and Russell he threw them onto the table in a dramatic gesture even Brass couldn't not have improved. It earned him an approving look from the latter.

"You're wrong. Not to mention, you made a mistake." Greg said with a quivering voice. "These are the original papers of the club. Not the ones you destroyed. The club was never yours in the first place, was it? After the murder you must have forged papers to make it look like you and the Rose founded the club together and held it 50-50. Too bad for you the Rose knew you were up to something. She gave Scheltz the originals while replacing them with copies. And you know what? She even gave him a copy of her will."

It was the end of her performance, the curtain had come crashing down and it trapped her underneath it. She stared at the papers for a long time while letting it sink in that it was over. She had played the game and she had utterly lost. After 30 years on the throne she was being taken down. And in the end, her final words were far from original.

"I think I need a lawyer."

The team was standing outside Brass' office. Russell filled Ecklie in on the details of Days' confession while Greg talked to Charlie Scheltz. The old man looked happy and sad at the same time.

"The war has finally been won but I fear the child is lost." He said sadly and poetically.

"Why do you think that? With the will we might be able to find her." Sarah said.

But Scheltz shook his head. "I read the will years ago. I searched for the girl, miss Sidle. I searched for her for decades I have never found her. I tried everything. I even used facebook and specialized sites, private detectives and archives all over California. I never found her. She is lost to us."

"I don't think so." A sweet voice said softly.

The team turned around to find a woman stand behind them. Her right hand on her hip, her hat slightly askew and a smile seductive as Aphrodite. It was the Rose.

For minutes the everyone stared at her without a word. Scheltz seemed to turn change color every 2 seconds. Greg didn't even seem to be breathing. Even Ecklie was breathless. The smile became wider and then, for the first time, the hat was pushed back gently and they could look her in the eye. They were brown, her eyes were brown. The spell was broken by this. Everyone in the hallway knew, thanks to Greg, that the Rose had blue eyes.

"It seems that I am both in need of and need to give and explanation. Perhaps I shall start with my introduction."

"We know who you are." Greg said breathlessly, unable to take his eyes of her. "You are the Rose's daughter."

"Yes, my name is Anna Valentina Hunter. I am the Desert Rose's daughter. And I fear I may have caused some of this mess."

The tone of sweet innocence stirred feelings in every man present. Sarah rose her eyebrows as she watched everyone, including Brass and even Ecklie, assure the young lady that she was in no way responsible for the killings. The only man who didn't say anything was Scheltz. He merely stared at her with watery eyes. Sarah felt sorry for him; she realized that, to him, she must look like a vision of the past. One last look he could cast on the love that he never had.

"I suppose…" Greg said "…that the only mystery that will never be resolved is who your father was."

Anna Hunter smiled sadly. "Who says that I don't know?"

Greg looked shocked. "But… Who?"

She didn't answer him, instead she turned to Scheltz.

"I was born 9 months after your 60th birthday. My mother knew what she was doing. That night she did more than turn your dream into reality, she chose you. She chose you to be my father."

THE END

6


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